


As If You Were Here

by CabbageCommander



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Catra (Mentioned) - Freeform, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22222021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CabbageCommander/pseuds/CabbageCommander
Summary: Double Trouble entertains an unexpected guest during their *thrilling* captivity in Bright Moon.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Double Trouble (She-Ra)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80





	As If You Were Here

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly... I don't even know where this came from.  
> On with the show!

This is…

Not what they expect.

Which is intriguing enough to keep their attention.

They are used to the queen and her shadow interrupting their _thrilling_ imprisonment for nonsense. This is the first time the hero of Etheria has come to visit. Alone.

“To what do I owe the pleasure-?”

And she’s locked the door.

They raise a brow, all the more intriguing. “Worried about interruptions, _darling_?” They flash her a sharp toothed grin.

Her cheeks color and her confidence faulters – they can understand now why so many unsavory sorts are so smitten with her – but it is only a moment before she is pinning them with a hard look.

“You’re no fun.” They say, rolling their eyes. If it weren’t for their mind-numbing captivity, they’d have lost all interest in her presence already. “What incredibly boring questions do you have for me to not answer today?” They ask, inspecting the nails of one hand and their guest surreptitiously.

She moves slowly closer to the magical barrier and from the corner of their eye they can see the wobble in her steps. It is a small but visible display of exhaustion that is confirmed by the shadows beneath her narrowed eyes. She is unarmed and lacking her gaudy red jacket, both signs of vulnerability. It intrigues them, these underlying tells. The solo visit. The locked door. The fatigue. The lack of weapon and layers.

“Why are you with the Horde?” They focus less on her words and more on her tone. She has asked this question before, not to them, but it certainly sounds like a canned go to. As if she is struggling to find a reason to be there herself.

“They pay me.” They shrug, utterly unashamed.

They can smell the blood of her bleeding heart on her sleeve. “That’s it? Money?!” She sounds personally affronted by their admission but it is forced.

“ _Darling_ , not all of us care about your silly ideals. Some of us are just looking for a paycheck.” They pause, and raise an admonishing finger. “That doesn’t mean I’ll tell you anything else.”

Her tired annoyed glare focuses on their finger. They see her jaw work, chewing over her train of thought, but it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. She stands rooted in place, neither asking more questions nor leaving.

They raise the hand she is focused on to eye level, and her eyes fog and refocus on theirs. They smile their predatory grin once more. “Not that you were here to interrogate me, were you?”

_Oh_ , those pretty, blue eyes drop from theirs so _fast_. The hero’s shoulders hunch, and for all this war has done to chisel her into a warrior the façade is so easy to crack, superficial and fragile as glass. She looks like a child trying hard not to cry for fear of punishment.

“Does it have anything to do with a certain feline friend of mine?”

She forces herself to meet their eyes with the most pathetic glare they’ve ever seen. All the anger is bravado that does nothing to hide the guilt, and the sadness, and the _want_. The want is what ignites them, answers their question with crystal clarity. They take the time while she flounders to weigh their desire for entertainment against their sole principle of never doing a job pro bono.

They decide, for a sweet girl like Adora, they can make an exception. But only the once.

Her nostrils flare, as they transform and her breath catches and stills until they shake the shadows from their new body.

“Hey, Adora.” They say their lines in an apologetic facsimile of their character, reaching a hand up against the magical barrier separating them. They fold their ears and wrap their tail nervously around their thighs.

If the façade had cracked before, the whole dam broke now.

“Catra.” The name heaves from her chest like it’s been pulled free, ending breathless and desperate. The want blows out her pupils in a way they had not expected. Her brows remain furrowed pleading and confused, and if they were a lesser performer, they would be dancing with glee at how easy it all was.

Instead, they look down and away, fold their shoulders in and wrap their unraised hand across their chest to hold themselves – and if the action puts an emphasis on their breasts it is _wholly_ unintentional. They draw their brows and let their lips and voice tremble. “Adora.” They pause, bite at their lip. “I’m sorry… for everything. All of this…I didn’t mean to…” They let their voice catch as they drop to their knees and sit back on their heels, both arms drawing around them. Crying would be difficult if they weren’t already holding back their laughter at the unfolding drama of it all. As it was, tears streamed freely down their face and a choking sob caught in their throat. “I… I just wanted you back… I know.” They reach for their folded ears, clawing and pulling at the delicate flesh in a show of distress. “I know I was wrong…” They look back up at her, their vision blurry, and raise a hand to reach out to her again. “Please… _Please_ don’t _hate_ me…”

Through the fog in their eyes they can see her throat work, choking on words and air. She wobbles in their blurry vision, still fighting herself, until they catch their lip in sharp fangs and draw their brows together in a pitiful pleading look. Oh, _the noise_ she makes! Both their ears swivel up to catch it and they disguise their interest as worry. They can hear her suffocating on the pieces of her broken heart in that beautiful strangled noise. They try to blink enough of their tears out of their eyes to see her distress more clearly and it is _worth it_.

Those blue eyes welling with tears that break the glassy surface like cracks. Her mouth hangs open slightly, empty air loaded with longing escapes those parted lips. She steps forward, haltingly as if she is moving towards them against her own will and better judgement.

One step.

Two steps.

She crashes through the magic barrier, collapsing to her knees before them. “I don’t hate you,” she says, voice ragged as it is shredded by that broken heart in her throat. “I…I could _never_ hate you.” She reiterates, her callused hands reaching up, pausing for only a moment of hesitation before holding their face as if they are something fragile. Their ears perk fully towards her, eyes widening as hers search their assumed face for a long moment. She bites her lip as her eyes fall to theirs.

Oh, this is _so much better_ than they could have anticipated.

They lean in, brush their nose against hers.

Once.

Twice.

On the third pass she presses forward, stilted and unsure, catching their lips with hers.

They watch her through their eyelashes as her eyes slide shut. Her mouth moves against theirs in sloppy, awkward movements, and they are tempted to stop, but stopping would mean her leaving and them being left once more to their utter boredom, at least the hero’s desperation has _some_ entertainment value to it. Even if the whole ordeal feels like dancing with a partner who has two left feet that insists on leading. Her hands move down their sides to their waist as she gives in to her own desperate need for more and presses closer, forcing them off balance. As they fall to their back, they let the red mask melt from their form as if it had fallen off. The movement traps their tail uncomfortably, first beneath them than again under her knee as she moves closer. They hiss and push her away until she realizes the problem.

“Sorry.” She pants, cheeks pink even in the blue light of the barrier surrounding them, as she shifts haphazardly, almost trapping it again in her haste to get off the sensitive appendage. Her mouth is quick to find its way back against theirs, eyes sliding shut once more. They allow the messy, inexperienced kisses to continue, let her pin them to the floor with her weight. The pressure and warmth of another body against theirs is nice, comfortable to both the magicat body they are replicating, and the reptilian one hiding beneath layers of magic.

Then callused hands tug hesitantly at their replicated uniform.

They go still at the touch, surprised by the hero’s nerve. They know full well they could easily shed their costume and it would all be over. She’d bolt, no doubt, full of shame and regret. Though, they reason, she’ll likely do that no matter how they choose to proceed. Going farther, however, possesses a new set of complications. Their disguises are built on what they observe, and what lies beneath the admittedly tight uniform of the horde commander is not something they’ve been privy to. The illusion could be easily broken with a missing stripe or off fur texture. Though, they can make an educated guess that neither the horde leader nor the hero of Etheria has any experience with this sort of physical intimacy, so their imagination would likely be more than sufficient.

In for a penny, in for a pound they suppose.

Just as Adora is beginning to draw away they thread their fingers in her blonde locks, pulling it free from its tight pony tail. They draw their claws gently against the back of her neck knotting her hair around their fingers, as their rough tongue runs against her bottom lip and is almost immediately invited in to meet her own. It stirs an eager, wanting noise in her throat, and keeps her eyes shut as they go about shedding clothing and conjuring fur patterns and flesh in its place. Their unoccupied hand guides one of hers against their stomach, starting her in an easy, safe place so as not to scare her off right away.

Her breath hitches and stills as her fingers brush the downy fur of their belly, moving slowly at first. Then all at once she sighs and dives in. One hand burying in their mane and pulling them closer. Her eyes squeezed shut tight refusing to look at the illusion, instead drowning herself in it. The hand on their stomach curls in their fur, scratching, until they flex and arch against her before moving hesitantly up and along their ribs. The movement stirs static in the faux fur and they let a low, moan roll from their mouth into hers. She inhales sharply, as if trying to savor their pleasure in her own lungs. Holding on to the fantasy that she is doing _something_ right, making _someone_ happy. Making _her_ happy.

They drag her in deeper. Settle her between their legs, squeezing her hips with their thighs while their tail lashes, winding around her waist, to twitch and stroke at her side.

The fingers she has buried in their mane tug gently to draw their head back, and her lips move to the soft, fine fur of their throat. They tease her with a stuttering purr that takes them a moment to get started and vibrates against her lips.

She responds with a groan that fades into a needy whine, while her fingers stroke back down their side to still hesitant at their hip. She pauses as if suddenly aware of her own actions and impatience; a heavy, breathing weight against them and they pant beneath her waiting. She buries her closed eyes in their shoulder and they feel the growing warm, wetness of tears there. Her thumb rubs uncertain phantom strokes against the crease where thigh meets hip and the catch of their breath in their throat is real. Their hips cant in undisguised impatience when she fails to continue and they force themselves to wait her out. She will be the one making the first move, their form the rope she’ll use to hang herself. The drama of it all as desirable to them as the prospective sex awaiting them, if not more so.

They run their own fingers gently up and down her back, stroke her sides with the lazy twitch of their tail and wait. Now and again the brush of her thumb on that sensitive spot draws involuntary, needy little twitches from their hips.

Her thumb stills.

Then her hand moves slow and unsure to rest on the inside of their thigh, applying gentle pressure until their legs fall open farther. Not one for foreplay it seems, though the disruption in their own dull captivity and their lust for heartbreak has wetted more than their appetite. They let an unseen, self-indulgent smirk cross their lips, before dropping back into character and hitching their breath in anticipation. Their claws dig gently into her shoulder and scratch against the back of her neck stirring sad, little shivers along her spine. Those sad, little shivers move from her spine down her arm, making her hand tremble as it edges closer to the apex of their legs. It makes them whine as her fingers part their outer lips and brush the slick, sensitive flesh between.

When she sits up on her elbow and looks down at them with those pained, pretty, blue puppy-dog eyes it is almost enough on its own. Whatever instinct has gotten her this far is failing her now, it is abundantly clear she has no idea how to proceed. She searches their assumed face for a lifeline.

Their tail flicks and – with perhaps more dexterity than it should have – slides along the curve of her hip and sinks between her legs to curl around her thigh, while their feet plant near her knees, letting their hips fall that much more open for her.

They are so _close_.

Just a little push now.

_“Adora.”_ They breathe her name, knitting their brows together over glittering, mismatched eyes. Their right hand moves slowly, letting their claws catch on the fabric of her shirt, from her shoulders to settle just below her collar bone feeling the hammering of her nervous heart against their palm.

Whether it’s the touch or the needy sound of her name that stirs her they aren’t sure, but they see her eyes flash and feel a wave of satisfaction wash over them in anticipation of what is to come.

She pulls away.

Sits up fully onto her knees and frowns down at them, all serious and mournful. “I-.” She shakes her head. “You’re not her.” She says as if they might not have known that. “Even if she was here…” Her eyes dart down and away from them, shame and resolve doing interesting things to her face, making her lips tremble. “I couldn’t… not with the way things are now…” She stands, forcing them to disentangle their tail from her leg.

_Stars,_ they gag at the boring good guy routine she falls back into. Their eyes roll and they shed their disguise, redressing in the process. They roll to their side, crossing their legs and letting their tail laze over their hip as they watch her back out of their magic prison and turn to the door.

“ _You know_ ,” they drawl, inspecting their nails. Their ear twitches as they hear the lock slide, but the door remains shut.

They sigh in mock disappointment. “I wouldn’t have been able to replicate the experience all that well anyway.” A vicious, sharp tooth grin crosses their mouth. “After all, _Kitten_ , _cries_ your name when she comes.”

She doesn’t reply whether or not she believes them, although the slamming of the doors behind her and the rush of her steps is a sufficient answer.

Their wicked cackling follows her even after she is well away from them, echoing against her own shame and doubt.

**Author's Note:**

> This popped into my head on Christmas and took me this long to write because I hit the point where they would have started going at it and Adora said no and refused to let me write a sex scene. So instead this happened and DT and I are equally as frustrated.  
> No lie, was gonna have a part with Adora asking why DT was doing this, and DT answering "Well its not because I like you [Darling]" but even I am not that level of cheese.


End file.
